Liebestraum
by Sleepless Eremite
Summary: Being in love is not how Jo imagined, nor is it always easy. But it is better than all of the scandalous stories she wrote, and she is glad to wake up every morning and find that her husband is not a dream. (Jo/Bhaer drabbles.)
1. Liebestraum

Jo March – that is, Jo _Bhaer_, as she had been for all of nine hours – was spending her first night in the house that she had inherited. It was also her first night as a wife. After a long day of dancing and visiting, it had been a relief to retire to Plumfield. All was quiet in the grand old house. ...Well, almost all.

"Friieedrich," Jo moaned, half-asleep, and wishing she was all the way asleep.

There was a gentle intake of breath and the bed creaked as her husband – still brand new, that title – shifted towards her. "What is it, Jo?"

He sounded tired, too. They were both exhausted. Meg might have warned Jo that weddings were tiresome things, as well as joyous. (Amy had been wise to do the thing quietly in Europe.) Of course, there had been a brief period, when Jo was finally alone with her dear Fritz, that she had not felt tired at all…

No one had warned her though that, when she and her husband _did_ fall asleep, he would breathe like a lumber saw.

Throughout the night she had opened her eyes to look blearily over at him, facing the wall so the sound echoed, until he rolled over and was peaceable again... for a little while at least.

If Jo had done as Marmee had advised and unpacked more of her things, she might have been able to find a suitable pair of earmuffs to wear to stifle the sound. But it was too dark to look for them now among the various trunks and parcels, and her spirits had been far too high before to bring them down to earth enough for the mundane task of housekeeping. For the umpteenth time in her life, Jo had to concede that Marmee was always right.

"You were snoring," she informed him.

"Was I?" he asked apologetically.

She looked at him (_ach_, with that lift of her brow that could only make him smile, even if he could only just see it in the moonlight that spilled into the room, and even if he had aroused her irritation). "It was not something I could have imagined up."

He gave a low chuckle at himself: it was a silly question. He was not a very young man, or a very small man; it was not so surprising that he snored. But apart from his sister when he was a boy, he had not had a roommate for some time, and he began to worry that he might have a great deal of unbecoming habits without his knowledge. But he could certainly trust Jo to tell him about them!

"I am sorry for waking you, mein Jo." He kissed her temple. For she really was his now – his wife. His _frau_ (though he knew she thought the word, in German, sounded far too much like the English word "frown," when for the past year it seemed they could do little but smile).

Sighing after the kiss, Jo closed her eyes in contentment as she relaxed against the bed. "I suppose I deserve it, anyway, for stealing the covers." She gave him a sheepish smile and draped the quilt over him that she had wrested away completely in her sleep. "I haven't really learned to share yet."

Though she was a sister, she had always had her own way, and she had always wanted her own space. She supposed that was not an impulse that would end _entirely _with marriage… though she was certainly finding it pleasant to share a room with Friedrich, aside from the snoring.

He smiled at her as he watched her for a moment. "Then we will learn." He touched her cheek. "We haf a life to share together now."

After his Jo gave a soft murmur of assent, Friedrich decided that it was time for both of them to return to sleep. He had settled down again to do so, and had just closed his eyes when the covers began to shake with his wife's laughter.

"You haf a joke, Professorin?" He was smiling, uncertainly.

"I'm sorry," she sputtered, tucking her face against his chest. "You _do_ sound like a bear."

"Ah." The Americans had stumbled over his name at first, thinking it was said like the big growly creature, _die bär_. And he had not minded it – not when the boys at the boardinghouse had played at being afraid of him in a game, not when the gentlemen at supper teased him for being too gentle to resemble the animal. Only, he did not wish to keep Jo awake with such noises. "For that, _I_ am sorry." He kissed the dear head with its wild hair.

Though she sighed, Jo was not _too _angry with him, the professor knew. She was quiet for a few moments, and he let his fingers wander languidly into her dark curls, no longer tentative about doing so.

"I did notice something," she said finally.

He stroked her hair, knowing she would continue.

"When you laid on your other side, you didn't snore so much."

"My other side." He gave a thoughtful nod and a soft smile touched his lips. "That is good." After he had dutifully eased onto the mattress in the position that Jo had suggested, he draped his arm over her. Perhaps when he held her that way, she could not squirrel away the covers, either.

With a smile, Jo turned in his embrace, letting her husband hold her close from behind. If he _did _snore, there would be no escaping the sound – but she did not think he would, based on what she had observed thus far. And it was a risk she was willing to take.

"Now you shan't snore," she murmured, "and I will be warm."

"And we shall be happy."

She closed her eyes, knowing he couldn't see her smile, but hoping he knew it was there all the same. "And we shall be happy."

Jo slept peacefully all the rest of the night.


	2. Consequences

Consequences

_Rating: K+  
__Summary: When Mrs. Bhaer is unpacking her things to prepare the house for Marmee's visit, she finds some old work... Just your cliché, fluffy, waking-up-from-a-nightmare scenario._

* * *

Jo smiled to herself as she read. Her mother had written her a short note saying that she would visit when it was convenient. "Isn't that just like Marmee," Jo had grinned with a small shake of her head; the dear woman never wanted to get in anyone's way.

Before she came to Plumfield to call upon the newlyweds, Marmee had given her daughter and son-in-law sufficient time to adjust to married life and to put some of their affairs in order. Of course, Marmee knew her Jo well enough that (Jo hoped) she could not expect that _everything _would be in order… no matter how much time was allotted. But Jo realized in a flash of mortification that _none_ of her things were in order.

Boxes were still piled here and there around the old house. The problem with living in such a grand old place was that there were so very many places to put things. Even if a box of trinkets got in the way of Fritz painting a wall, there was another wall to set it against; and when _that _wall had to be tended, well, the other wall was dry enough to tolerate the box again.

Now, she had to unpack every last box, and find a place for its contents. She found herself cursing her earlier sloth. Though she did not regret bringing many mementos of sentimental value – for she wanted her new house to be _homey – _she did wish she had not brought so many other little trifles.

At first, Jo had been good, dutifully sorting through her worldly goods so she could decide what to take with her to Plumfield, and what ought to be given to the less fortunate. (Since _she _was the one who got to marry Fritz, she had decided that nearly everyone in the world was less fortunate.) She had time enough to go through all of the old childhood relics, while Fritz toiled the year away so he could make money enough for "his boys." (And, as, Jo was no angel, it _did _bother her sometimes that Fritz had to be away from her, working for his nephews, when he might have been with her, already married, and helping _his boys _at their school. But she would never tell him so, only that she missed him.) So she sighed once in a while and allowed herself brief moments of self-pity as she packed, dreaming of her Fritz's return.

And it was a good thing, too, that she had had enough time before her marriage to afford her such a leisurely pace. For now and then, she would catch a glimpse of one of Bethy's scraps, and hold it tenderly to her breast, reminiscing for a spell. Or she would come across her "hope chest," where Marmee had over the years faithfully laid aside some linens for Jo's married life. Oh, how ardently Jo had protested, saying she would never be a wife! But now, as she was packing her things to take them into the home she would share with her husband, she often found herself distracted from the task thinking upon that very man.

So it turned out that the days remaining until her wedding sped by more rapidly than Jo had anticipated. She had had to abandon her sorting to send her things indiscriminately to their new home. After all, Plumfield had room enough for a few more trifles.

Setting aside the note with Marmee's sweetly familiar script, Jo resolved to find a shelf or nook for every one of her acquisitions. For if Marmee were to visit, she would need someplace to sit. And though Jo had little desire to unpack, she had every desire to receive her mother to Plumfield as _Mrs. Bhaer_.

* * *

A few hours into her endeavor, Jo had, unfortunately, made little progress. Despite her suggestion that Friedrich attend to his reading and leave her to her task, he had twice interfered. The first time, he had proved no help at all, moving her hair gently aside and pressing a kiss to her neck while he looked over her shoulder to see what she was doing. (Jo had to admit, she had not insisted very strongly that he ought to go away, for she had not wanted him to.) The second time, perhaps somewhat chagrined by his earlier interruption, he _had _offered his assistance. But that occasion, Jo had shooed him away, not wishing to be distracted again, and still feeling slightly shy about her husband seeing all of her silly old nonsense.

It was just as well, because after Jo had proudly finished emptying a trunk of linens and placing the last bedsheet in a closet, she came across another trunk – this one full of papers. She glanced over her shoulder at Friedrich, who was sitting in a far corner of the room, his nose in a book.

Though these plays were far more innocent than the pieces she had written for _The Daily Volcano_, there was still enough mischief in them to make her blush, and be glad that her husband was currently ensconced in metaphysics. Kneeling on the floor, she flipped through the crinkled pages.

It was not that she thought Friedrich would be ashamed of her old work; but now, she realized she was. A part of her had reveled in the sinister and dramatic, but it was not the _best _part of her, the part of her that she now hoped would grow. And – looking back – her writing was rather atrocious.

Perhaps Amy ought to have burned _all _of this silly scribbling! But for some reason, Jo had kept it, not quite willing to discard the source of fond memories. She clung onto the days of that youth, which felt rather faraway now – where it had been Teddy and Beth and Amy and Meg and her, mucking about as if they hadn't a care in the world. There could have been joy enough in such a bunch even without an awful play, for their real lives had been happy as long as they'd had each other. But still nostalgia overtook Jo as she read, and she found herself absorbed.

Surely, there was no harm in it. It was just childish rubbish. She had put her days as sensational writer _Joseph March _far behind her.

* * *

It took many hours for Jo to leave off her perusing. But somehow or another she had gathered her wits again and gotten back to her task. Books and clothing had all found their places. Marmee could come visit without being _too _shocked by her daughter's lack of housekeeping, and Jo was satisfied.

* * *

Sometime during the night, Friedrich awoke. Before marriage, he had been a rather heavy sleeper – but then, he had not shared a bad with a _mädel _who tossed and turned all the night.

He stirred, shifting onto his other side, and was disturbed to hear his wife whimpering incoherently.

"Jo." He frowned in worry and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Jo?"

When she thrashed, he did not move fast enough to evade the hand that clipped his face. It took him aback. He looked at Jo, glad to see that her eyes were open. He dropped his hand from where he had clutched his jaw, not wanting her to know she had hurt him. The surprise and pain were fading, giving way to relief.

"Friedrich?" she asked, voice faint.

"Yes, mein Jo," he replied tenderly, kissing her forehead. "Thou worriest me."

Jo exhaled and closed her eyes again. "I had a nightmare – that's all. The duke…"

"The duke…?"

Giving a shake of her head, Jo moved nearer, and Friedrich tucked an arm around her.

"It doesn't matter," she decided. "_You're _here."

Though Friedrich wished his beloved never had to experience fear or pain, even in sleep, such words gladdened his heart, and he held her closer. What have caused her distress? Had she dreamt of young Elizabeth, taken from her family too soon, he would have kissed every tear from Jo's cheek. But such words about a duke… they could have only been inspired by a tale in a certain paper.

He was disheartened for a moment by the thought. But Jo could not have written anything recently, he was sure. They were miles away – a lifetime away – from New York City, with all its worldly publishers. And in the last week, Jo had scarcely been out of his sight. Perhaps she had found some of her old work today. Never had she confirmed to him in words that she _had _written such bad trash, but her eyes, _they _had said it.

When they met, she had been a girl, far from her parents, and there was such goodness about her that he had felt he must protect her from… from such things. Now, he saw he had been right to do it. He wondered how many other nights there had been when Jo had woken from some unpleasant dream. And he was glad that he could be there to comfort her – though he wished such visions would not come to her again.

A sweet kiss drew him from his thoughts, and he looked into his Jo's dark eyes to see what thoughts were there. In some things, she was a mystery to him yet.

"What a ninny I was, imagining such romances" – she said finally, and laughed – "when I had _you _to look forward to!"

* * *

_AU: Thanks, all, for reading! I will probably continue switching back and forth between Jo's perspective and Bhaer's. Let me know what you think – do you prefer chapters with more dialogue, or more character development/introspection?_


End file.
